A Baby in His Stocking. Laura Marie Altom
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Dallas had holed up in the movie room. The mere thought of manly Wyatt eating petit fours and discussing the perfect Thanksgiving side dishes brought on a smile. “He said he had business in Tulsa, but I was up all night and this morning with indigestion and never saw him leave.”
“Hmm…” Natalie hid behind her orange spice.
Truth was, she hardly knew him well enough on a personal level to be disappointed by not seeing him today, so why did she now feel pouty? She’d been looking forward to giving him her gift. She’d never met anyone brave enough to just pack up and run away. Sure, lots of people talked about it, but Wyatt had the balls to actually do it. She admired him for that. And as anxious as she was about tackling the frontier of single-motherhood, she planned on adopting Wyatt’s fearless attitude when it came to raising her child.
“I’m tired of talking about my horrible son,” Georgina said above a classical crescendo, “let’s talk about you. I’m concerned. I spoke with your mom the other day at gardening club and she said she’s afraid you’re hiding something from her.”
Natalie lightly shook her head. “Mrs. Buckhorn, I don’t mean to be rude, but my personal, private business aside, you just called your son horrible for following his heart. I don’t mean any disrespect, but as the one woman in his life he loves above all others, shouldn’t you support his decision?”
“It’s not that simple.” Georgina set her cup and saucer on the table. “We need Wyatt here. His leaving is selfish. I need him here.”
“For what? From what he’s told me, he’s set up your oil holdings to practically run themselves.”
The older woman sighed. “Your frown tells me you don’t understand. My kind of clarity on these matters only comes with age.”
To be polite Natalie nodded, while inside, she vowed to never be so far removed from her son or daughter to stop communicating with them not just on the daily superficial matters, but on issues that truly matter.
Fed up with small talk and hearing advice on everything from getting Craig back to shedding those few extra pounds she seemed to have put on, Natalie didn’t bother consulting Josie before sneaking out the back door.
Cold November rain hitting her cheeks came as a welcome relief. As did the sweet smell of a wood fire. The house had been stifling. Too much perfume fighting for attention.
Once in her car, for the longest time Natalie rested her forehead against the wheel. What was wrong with the people of this town that they all felt not only obliged to share their opinions on the most personal aspects of her life, but downright entitled?
Wyatt was right to leave. If she hadn’t gone and done a stupid thing like believing Craig loved her, she might still be in a position to do some running herself. As it was, she couldn’t afford to abandon her job or support system—no matter how annoying they all might be.
Backing out of her parking space, Natalie had just decided to make an emergency ice-cream run when it occurred to her that maybe an even better way to spend her afternoon would be by talking out her frustrations about Georgina with the only other person who seemed equally annoyed by her pushy manner—Wyatt.
Before chickening out, instead of aiming her car for the main road, she steered down the blacktop lane leading to his home. In all the years she’d known the Buckhorns, she’d never seen Wyatt’s house. Come to think of it, not that many folks around town had.
Cash and Wren lived in a clean-lined home not half a mile from Georgina. Josie and Dallas lived with the Buckhorn matriarch in the main house, and Daisy and Luke resided in Luke’s cabin until renovations were finished on the historic wreck they were lovingly restoring. Wyatt, however, resided in the woods. Reportedly a good ten miles from the rest of the clan. Rumor had him living in everything from a tin shed to a mobile home to a playboy-style mansion.
Three miles into her trek, rain drummed her car roof. Poor visibility had her slowing to a ridiculous pace. Mile after mile, the blacktop road snaked through dense forest. Just when Natalie was convinced she must have driven all the way to Kansas, there it was. Wyatt’s house. Only town gossip hadn’t done it justice.
Like the oil rigs he spent most of his time working, the structure was steel, clinging to a wooded hillside. At first glance, a haphazard series of staggered boxes. Upon closer inspection, the hard metal bones had been covered in glass skin that even on such a dreary day, reflected forest and sky. The place was spellbinding. All the more so when through one of the center panels she spied Wyatt lounging on a couch, watching TV.
Parking alongside his black truck with its Buckhorn Ranch insignia on the doors, she left her purse in the car, struggling instead with an umbrella and his book.
At the end of a gray flagstone walk, she faced an imposing, cranberry-red door. Dripping, trying to keep her umbrella from flying away in the wind, she was on the verge of bailing on her impromptu mission, when the door opened and there stood Wyatt. Bare-chested, wearing faded jeans and nothing else.
“Thought I heard a car. What’re you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too.” Leaving her umbrella, she brushed past him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded. Guess I’m surprised to see you. Thought you’d be holed up with my family all day.”
“I was—for most of it, anyway. Then your mother ticked me off, and I just wanted out.”
“What’d she do now?”
“I’ll tell you just as soon as you show me where the nearest bathroom is,” she said, her teeth chattering.
He pointed down a shadowy hall. “First door on your left.”
Natalie finished with the necessities that her pregnancy had created and took one look in the mirror and cringed. The humidity had transformed her formerly straightened long hair into a frizz ball. Her mascara ran, and her complexion sported a vampire pall. If she’d brought in her purse, she’d have at least had a ponytail holder to tame her hair. As it was, she settled for using tissue to fix her face.
“Took you long enough.” Wyatt hadn’t left the entry hall.
“Are you the bathroom police?”
His white-toothed grin stole her breath. “I’ve seen feral cats look better than you.”
“If I had the energy, I’d beat you to a pulp.”
“Yeah, right.” He helped her remove her coat. “You tried once in fourth grade and failed miserably.”
“Only because Dallas came to your rescue.”
“That could be debated.” He tossed her coat onto an antique sideboard. The eclectic mix of furniture was genius. Had he done it himself or had help?
“Come on.” Taking her by her arm, he said, “Let’s get you warmed up.” He led her down a short flight of stairs to a room so awe-inspiring she literally couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say. Three walls were composed of floor-to-ceiling glass. Centered on the furthest wall was a river-stone fireplace, glowing with warmth. A mammoth plasma-screen TV hung above the mantel and a custom U-shaped sectional occupied the center of the cathedral-ceilinged space. A sumptuous white area rug covered maple floors. The overall effect was as if they were floating through the forest on a magic carpet.
“I shouldn’t be here.” Natalie nodded to her still damp clothes and specks of mud on her shoes. “I’ll muss something.”
Kneeling alongside her, he removed one of her black heels, then the other. His knuckles grazed her ankles, shocking her with the unexpected intimacy of his touch. “Next excuse?”
“Th-thanks.” Her teeth still occasionally chattered, but she suspected now more because of her erratic pulse than cold. His actions had been kind. Something Josie might’ve done—only with plenty of teasing and a goofy smile.
“No problem.”